Power
by CMeInThe502
Summary: Heavy lies the crown for Jax Teller, Sons of Anarchy President, whose stepfather and old lady have been arrested. His life is chaotic. Enter law student and dealer Layla Jones, daughter of legendary Jay Jones. They struggle to maintain the power in the outside world, and between each other. JAX/OC - loosely based on Savages.
1. Chapter 1

Power

Chapter One

Disclaimer: I do not own anything affiliated with Sons of Anarchy, period. Also, the base of the plot is similar to Savages, the book and movie, by Don Winslow. Not mine. Thanks for reading, please review!

...

Layla Jones slammed the brake pedal to the floor. Her tires screeched as the rubber dragged across the concrete, her Firebird finally skidding to a halt mere inches away from eating the quarter panel of a big, black SUV. It had sped past her, quickly maneuvering and parking sideways across the road.

Her heart pounded in her ears like a deafening bass drum as the doors to the SUV flew open. A group of Hispanic men toting big, automatic rifles surrounded the car. Adrenaline coursed through her veins as she threw the car into reverse, but her foot never made it to the accelerator.

One of the guys aimed his weapon at the abandoned house across the street and opened fire.

Layla threw her hands in the air, wincing as gunshots sounded through the air.

"What do you want?" She demanded, directing her attention to the only unarmed dude. He'd exited the SUV last.

"You Layla Jones?" His deep, rough voice was punctuated with an inner-city lilt, his Spanish accent barely audible. She took in his big, diamond encrusted watch and loose fitting, designer jeans. He was a shot-caller.

"That depends on if it'll get me shot or not," her voice rang out, surprisingly steady. Nobody laughed.

He stepped closer to her window. "I'm Tres. I'm with the V13. We want to join you and your brother in a business venture. You all get 7%. We expand. The street loves your product, shouldn't it be available everywhere?"

"We're not looking for any partners at the moment," she smiled coolly. "Thank you, anyway."

He backed up, returning her wry, humorless smile. His eyes were predatory, soulless, like black holes. "We aren't asking. You'll be bringing us a quantity of that fire sometime this week. We'll be in touch."

She watched him climb into his SUV with the rest of the men and pull off, passing her car. Tres watched her until he was out of sight. Layla drew a shaky breath to steady herself, but her heart stayed in her stomach. Anxiety swiftly attacked her, and a jarring panic swept through her chest.

Pushing her honey blonde hair from her forehead, she exhaled. "Oh, shit."

...

Layla's father wasn't the best dad. He was rash, obstinate, unmotivated. The War in 'Nam changed him from a wet behind the ears, bright eyed skateboarder from Venice Beach to a hardened man, skeptical of the system, of "the man." The only times Layla really remembered him being happy were when he was surfing, skating, riding, or smoking. Jay Jones blew trees like it was nobody's business, and he distributed more green across the great state of California than anybody else in the eighties and nineties.

He taught Layla how to ride a wave, make the perfect grilled cheese sandwich, and throw a right hook, but the best lesson was when he taught her how to move.

Even though her dad drastically downsized the amount of weed he sold when Layla and her brother, Lennon, started school, he never stopped. Thus, the police were always hard for him. After the Great Arrest of 2010, when the DEA seized almost all of his assets and their new house, there had barely been any money left. When their father passed away, they were left with little more than a house payment, two cars, and their father's classic Indian.

Lennon, an apprenticing tattoo artist, had no idea how to send his hardworking younger sister to college, and she was denied financial aid. Her position as a bartender wasn't enough to pay tuition at the University of California. So, they made the decision to join the 'family business.'

Lennon nursed his father's pet project, a hybrid strain of premium Cali homegrown buds, to maturity. He and Layla started selling, in short, some of the best weed known to mankind. This shit right here? Fire.

They had weed to make you happy, weed to calm you down, weed to make you horny, weed to take away your pain... And business was booming.

They lived the good life for two years, working with all of their Dad's old connections to put their product up and down the coast, then moving eastward. Business was good, the bills were getting paid, and Lenny was packing away money to open his own tattoo shop in Venice Beach, like he'd been dreaming of since age five. They were steadily progressing to their end game.

It all changed after Layla finished her last final, a beast of a 400 level Jurisprudence course, and found herself held at gunpoint by a member of the Venice 13. That was when they had to call Uncle Nero, and that was when they met the Sons.

...

Layla whipped her black Firebird into a parallel parking spot on the side of the street expertly, right in front of Art&Soul Tattoos. The door was left open to the California breeze, and the familiar sound of a tattoo machine buzzing drifted to her ears. She flew through the entrance, blinking her wide eyes quickly to adjust to the dimmer interior.

Her heart was still racing, and despite swiping her hand over her forehead a few times it was coated with a layer of cold sweat. Lennon was seated at his station, finishing up the last touches on a detailed black and grey portrait of a gap toothed little girl, complete with pigtails.

"What's up, Sis?" Lennon called, grabbing some cream from the counter top. "How was Jurisprudence?"

She stared. "I don't know."

He glanced up at her, and his blue eyes stopped on her face, concerned. "What happened? You studied for days, there's no way you did that shitty. Chill out."

Layla shook her head frantically. "I need you out back. Hurry up."

Moments later, he met her out the back of the shop, lighting up a cigarette. He offered it to her, and she hit it hard, appreciating the calming affect the nicotine spread through her body.

"What the fuck is up?" Lennon demanded.

Layla shook her head, exasperated. "We are SO screwed, Lenny. I just got jammed up by the V13. They want to take us over."

Lennon paled. "Oh, shit."

"I know, right?" Layla sat down. She set her mouth grimly. "We're gonna have to do it."

"No way. We haven't saved up enough to get you through law school yet. I won't do anything with those asshole bangers, they'll probably kill us if we do."

"We don't really have any other options, Lenny," she reminded him. "They'll definitely kill us if we don't."

...

Lennon followed her back to their two story, cottage style house in his Jeep. Layla was more calm now that she wasn't alone, but a deep feeling of dread had settled low in her abdomen. She'd known something like this was going to happen; either the cops or the bangers were going to come after them. They were getting too big.

Layla's mind was racing, searching for some grand scheme or bargaining chip to get the V13 off their backs. She was drawing up blank. They were completely powerless.

Her brother went into the house first, looking around suspiciously, and Layla followed him closely. He grabbed a pistol out of the side table drawer, handing it to her. His automatic handgun was already drawn. After a minute, when she was confident no one was going to jump out and yell "boo!" or start shooting, she navigated to the bathroom to clean up. She pushed the door open and flipped on the light, then dropped her purse in surprise.

"Lennon!" she called out. He flew into the room, gun at the ready, his eyes widening as they took in the red paint on the huge, decorative mirror.

V13.

It wasn't even threatening, but Layla knew it was a message of ownership, of possession. They were making it known they could come into their home whenever they wanted.

She pulled out her cell without a second thought.

...

Nero Padilla was Layla's uncle. His younger sister, Layla's Mexican-American mom, was a junkie no one has seen since she packed up and hightailed it from California twenty years ago. Despite her absence, Uncle Nero visited Layla and Lenny in SoCal often when they were young. He was the only family they had left.

He was also an OG.

When Lennon called Nero and asked to meet a couple hours north of L.A., their uncle agreed immediately. They had a nice dinner, and then Layla explained their current predicament over drinks.

"Sounds to me you've got no choice," Nero shrugged, leaning back in his chair with his Corona. "Either you give in, you get out, or you fight back."

Lennon crossed his arms, his muscles bulging under his tattooed skin. "I'm not giving them everything. Layla still has two years of law school, at least. Law school that's significantly more expensive than an undergrad program. I'm just a tattoo artist, I can't pay her tuition."

Nero raised an eyebrow. "Even with what you made this year? I heard business has really taken off."

"Not that much," Layla shook her head. "We're comfortable, but we don't have nearly that much money. It would be safer to just give them what we have and get out, Len. I don't want trouble."

"But they do," Lennon laughed bitterly. "I wish we could give them some."

Nero's eyes locked on Lennon. "You are so much like your father sometimes, Lennon," he smirked. "I have new partners that may be able to help you out. It would be an expense, but it would be worth it. They aren't as unreasonable as these Venice shitheads."

"Who?" Layla arched a brow. Considering the establishment her uncle ran, it probably wasn't good news.

Nero's hesitation was evident. "Tell you what," he shrugged. "Give me a half quarter. Go home, get some things, and some more ganja. Then ride on out to Diosa in the morning and we can have a meeting."

Layla simply nodded, hoping, praying that Nero could help them out of this jam. "Now tell me more about this lady you're seeing, Tio, Gemma?"

...

The next morning, Layla and Lennon threw some things in the Jeep and took off. Five and a half hours later, they pulled into Diosa. As she climbed down from the seat and adjusted her pencil skirt, she surveyed the large, plain building and the number of high priced luxury cars and motorcycles in the lot.

What an odd combination.

They entered the escort service together, and spotted Nero chatting with some guys in jeans and leather in the waiting area. They all looked wild, rough, and out of place amongst the upscale, relaxing decor of Diosa, like they'd be more comfortable at a dive bar.

They were in a brothel, though, so Layla didn't have to reach to logically associate the men with the business.

Nero caught her eye and smiled, gesturing her and her brother over. She touched Lennon's forearm, dragging his attention from the flirting Lolita secretary. "Keep it in your pants, skanky. We have bigger things to worry about right now."

He smiled. "I always have time for beautiful women."

Nero laughed. "Don't we all? This is my nephew, Lennon Jones, and this lovely young woman is my niece, Layla. Lenny and Layla, this is SAMCRO. Chibs," he nodded to a weathered man with longer, salt and pepper hair dressed in leather pants. "Bobby," a guy with crazy frizzy, long hair, a 1970s print shirt, and a big jelly belly waved his hand. "Tig," skinny, bright blue eyes, and curly, unruly dark hair nodded. He looked a little crazy. "And Juice," Nero clapped a hand on the back of a caramel skinned younger guy with a tattooed, shaved head.

The all had on matching leather vests, cuts, depicting a grim reaper and various other patches. Layla assumed they were in a motorcycle gang.

"Nice to meet you," Layla replied politely. Lennon nodded, immediately engaging Juice in a discussion about his ink.

Nero put his arm around her in an affectionate half hug. "As soon as their president gets here we can talk shop, figure something out about these V13 bustas."

Layla spent the next few minutes talking and laughing with her uncle's friends, establishing a good rapport. She was quick witted and sweet, and had grown up trash talking and joking with men. These were the kinds of guys she knew. She learned that SAMCRO stood for the Sons of Anarchy Motorcycle Club (Redwood Original), that they were partners in Diosa, and that they were always in trouble, according to Juice.

"So where's the Prez?" Nero raised a brow at Chibs. "Not like him to roll without you all."

Chibs shrugged, and the group sobered. "Jackie-Boy is having a tough time since his Old Lady was locked up the other night. He's going through it. We all are, at the moment."

Her attention was drawn to the entrance as another, similarly dressed man came into the waiting room. Layla took in his shoulder length blonde hair, his clear blue eyes, and the stubble on his masculine chin. He was wearing a navy tee shirt, low slung, baggy jeans, and the same leather cut as the rest of the guys, labeled with a President patch. He had a taller build, strong shoulders and arms, and a slow, confident swagger. Layla lost herself for just a moment, desperately trying to school her features into a mask of calmness. It was difficult; he was devastatingly sexy.

The guys all chimed enthusiastic greetings, shaking his hand and fist bumping. Chibs looked at Layla. "This is our President, Jackson Teller. Jax, this is Nero's niece, Layla, and her brother Lennon."

The SAMCRO President's eyes lingered on her for a minute, dragging over her figure and her face leisurely. His eyes looked tired, cold. "Let's talk business, babe."


	2. Chapter 2

Thanks for all the support you all, I really appreciate it! Here's number two, hope you enjoy it.

* * *

Layla shoved the heavy front door of Diosa out of her way, stalking out to her brother's Jeep. Her stilettos clicked angrily on the concrete. She pulled a J from the glove compartment, leaned against the car, and lit up. She definitely needed some stress relief.

This Jax Teller guy?

Asshole.

The other Sons were interested in making some extra cash, making sure their good buddy Nero's niece and nephew were safe. It was easy money, they said. Plus, the weed was great.

But oh, no, the big bad president with the cold blue eyes leaned back in his comfy leather chair and said, "Let them handle their own shit. We're not in the position to take anything else on, and I don't think we should take the risk right now."

Apparently he didn't understand the profit margin his little motorcycle club could be involved in. Layla and Lennon were well on their way to surpassing the Mexican cartel's sales in Cali this year- they were a big fucking deal. For him to be so arrogant, so conceited, to not even give them the time of day to negotiate a deal advantageous to both parties, was just rude.

"It's nothing personal, babe," he's said.

Layla huffed. She'd even worn her best business outfit.

The front door to Diosa opened again, and the Sons all hit the parking lot heading for their respective bikes. Jax, their president, brought up the rear, talking on a cheap burner phone. His eyes were like ice, and his face was set in defiance.

"Look, Tara, I posted your bail and that's all I can do for you right now. I've got the best lawyer in Northern California on retainer for your case," he bit out, kicking the gravel on the ground with the toe of his polished white sneaker.

He sighed, almost growling in frustration. "Don't start that shit with me right now. I'm gonna stay at the clubhouse while you're out."

He paused for a minute, then wearily said "Because I can't give you an answer right now, and I'm not okay with what you did. I can't be around you."

Layla winced, guilt flooding her for ear hustling on what seemed to be an open and honest insight into the president's life. His voice was raw, and she felt out of place and awkward. She was clearly standing right in front of him, however; he could just walk away.

"The boys are fine. They're with me and Gemma. I'll have her bring them over at night if you want to see them," he offered.

"Quit it, damn it," he growled, anger overtaking his tone. "You just got out of jail, you think you can take me to court? You're on trial for murder, and that's not to mention the fact that Abel isn't even your son. I'm sorry that you think I'm ruining your life, but I tried to tell you to get out a long time ago. You can't hang, you never could, and this is what my life is about. I'm trying to make it better, but you just won't give me the time."

He paused for a minute, then sighed again. "Yeah, I'll talk to you later," then snapped the phone shut. He sat down on the curb next to his bike, putting his head in his hands.

Layla subconsciously made a decision, then walked over to him with light footsteps. She touched his leather covered shoulder, and his head snapped up, his angry, haunted gaze pinning hers.

She grinned crookedly and held out her joint.

He cracked a smirk, accepting her peace offering.

"Thanks, darlin'," he nodded at her. He appraised her again, for what seemed like the hundredth time. "You don't seem cut out for the life. You look like you're laced a little straight."

She sighed. "You're quick to judge. I grew up like this. My dad moved green in Dogtown all my life; this is my birthright."

Jax's eyes locked on hers. "Sounds familiar. My dad was a vet, that's how all this shit came to be. He wanted peace."

Layla furrowed her eyebrows. "I haven't heard much about that around here," she replied.

Jax glared at her. "We hit a rough patch," he said shortly, hitting the J again.

She smiled wryly. "I hear you. My dad just wanted us to have a better life, I think, but we're doing the same shit he was. We feel like we don't have any other way to reach where we wanna be. I guess you always turn into your parents."

He returned her smile grimly. "God, I hope not. My mother's batshit crazy in her old age, and there's no hope for my boys if they turn out like me."

"What's so bad about you? Other than your bad attitude, gruff personality, and savage ways of passing the time, that is?" She teased, tilting her head up to watch his face as she put out the J.

He smiled finally, a full blown, white smile that lit up his face. "I do not have a gruff personality," he denied adamantly, standing up to climb on his bike. "I'm a charming motherfucker."

"I don't know," she shrugged. "You seem a little moody."

"I've got a lot ridin' on me," he cocked his head, fastening his helmet. "It's tough bein' king."

"I bet," she smirked. "Absolute power corrupts, haven't you heard?"

He leveled her with an intense gaze. "I've seen it. But sometimes you have to sacrifice for the greater good, even if everyone else thinks you're doing it all wrong."

Nero and Lennon were striding across the lot now, and Jax nodded at them as he gunned his engine. "See you around, darlin'."

Lennon whistled as he watched Jax pull out of the lot, punching it and speeding off toward town. "That bike is..." His voice drifted off as the motorcycle disappeared in the distance.

"You're such a fan girl," Layla teased, shrugging off the haze of such a serious conversation.

Nero shook his head. "Look, I know that didn't go as planned, but you all don't have to rush out. Stay a couple days, get a fresh head before you go back."

Layla raised an eyebrow. "Cool with me, if you can get away from the shop, Len. My finals are over, and I asked for them not to give me shifts at the bar."

Lennon nodded. "I'm gonna flip around some appointments, I think. Time away will be good for us."

...

Chris Riker cut the engine of his Camaro off in the Jones' kids driveway, cautiously stepping out into the front yard. His green eyes dragged the length of the familiar property observantly, searching for any detail that was out of place in the moonlight.

He and Lenny Jones have been best friends since they were three years old, the first time they were sequestered in Chris' playroom with the au pair while their parents partied on a coke binge all night. They stuck together through a lot of shit, and there was very little Chris wouldn't do for his dude.

The only thing that had ever threatened to come between them was Lenny's little sister, Layla. Chris' last five years have been filled with a monstrosity that slightly resembled a relationship, which managed to infuriate, amuse, and disgust Lennon all at once. Layla was the reason Chris lived and breathed; he'd been obsessed with her since she hit puberty, when he knew he had to have her.

He'd been her first, and really only, boyfriend ever. And he missed her.

What he wasn't willing to do for Lenny, he would certainly do for his doe eyed sister.

So, here he was past dark, checking their house to make sure these V13 gangbangers were leaving their shit alone. He was just as pissed that these people were trying to screw his friends as Layla and Lennon were about their livelihood being threatened.

Chris checked and secured the house, then made his way to the back yard, where Lenny and Layla had spent countless hours nursing their hybrid plants to fruition. Their first grow house was in the old garden shed and greenhouse that backed up against the privacy fence. It had been used to store surfboards and supplies for a lot of years, until the Jones' kids had needed somewhere to start up their business.

When they began moving even bigger quantities a couple years back, they moved their plants to a similar building on Chris' own property in Malibu. His father's huge compound gave them plenty of cover to grow and harvest, out of the way of prying eyes.

Chris' eyebrows raised as he surveyed the old grow house. The door was kicked in, and all the windows were smashed. He moved closer across the lawn, placing a hand on the pistol he had tucked into his waistband.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, white boy," a menacing voice sounded in his ear. Chris heard the hammer cock on a gun inches behind his ear. "Who are you?"

Chris straightened, raising his hands slowly. "Chris."

"And what are you doing here, Chris?" The accented voice demanded.

"Checking on the property for the people that live here. They're out of town on business," he explained carefully. Gooseflesh pricked his skin as the cold barrel of the gun came in contact with his skull.

"Where they at?"

Chris shrugged. "Visiting their uncle. I'm not sure where," he answered honestly.

"Let them know they need to come back home," the voice demanded. "And deal with the V13. Before something happens."

The barrel of the gun moved from Chris' head, and some of the tension left his body. His ears barely registered something speeding through the air behind him as something connected with his head.

Everything went black.

...

Gemma Teller-Morrow was a bad bitch.

Layla was captivated by the way she wore her few lines like badges of honor, the way she looked defiant and proud and put together. Her trials were there, on her face, telling the story of a life hard lived, but her eyes were alight with a determination and fierceness that was beautiful. She would bet this woman was cunning and ruthless, but she was a survivor. She looked like she deserved respect.

No wonder Nero was so into her.

Layla and Lennon had been extended an invitation to the first Sons of Anarchy gathering since the former president and Jax's old lady had been arrested, according to Nero. Gemma was holding a barbecue to 'bring everyone together' at Teller-Morrow Automotive.

She was overseeing the beginning of the party with her hands on her hips, dressed to kill. Layla offered to help her with some finishing touches, and Gemma agreed, putting her to work moving food onto the big buffet table immediately.

"So, the boys have been talking about you," she began, as Layla placed a massive bowl of potato salad next to the coleslaw.

Layla raised an eyebrow. "Really?"

Gemma nodded. "Frankly, I don't think they need any more on their plate at the moment. You're a pretty face and it sounds like you're in some trouble, but involving the club will only do harm."

Layla blinked. "You sound like you're son."

"Well, he's a smart kid."

Layla shrugged. "It was a business opportunity. I need protection for my business, they were open to hearing a proposal. I'm not going to pressure anyone to take on more than they can handle. I'm just looking for some people to hire."

Gemma leveled her with a fierce gaze. "So you're just a businesswoman, hm?"

"I'm only sticking around to spend some time with my uncle, Momma Bear, don't worry. I haven't seen him enough since I started school," Layla raised her hands in surrender.

The corners of Gemma's mouth quirked, and she nodded. "Good to know."

"Now, may I asked what your intentions are with my Uncle? He's a vulnerable man," Layla joked, placing her hands on her hips as Nero and Lennon strolled over.

"Completely innocent," Gemma raised her hands in surrender. Layla laughed, accepting a beer from her brother as Gemma touched Nero's arm.

"You seem stressed, Mama,"Nero said gently.

Gemma nodded. "You know this could be a turning point," she said. "I just want things to be as normal as possible for the boys, so they remember they're family. I'm going to go check on my babies, I'll be right back."

"Things might be a little tense," Nero warned, catching Layla's curious expression. "Two of the prez's family members were just arrested on murder charges. That's really close to the club."

Layla raised an eyebrow. "Two? More than just his wife?"

Nero nodded. "His stepfather, too."

Talk about having a bad week, Layla mused. "So his stepfather and his wife are running around town committing murder? What, are these people possessed or something?"

Lennon laughed, and Nero grinned. "No, this is just a different kind of place. The Sons live a very dramatic lifestyle. They're gangsters in their own right."

"Sounds like it. Remind me not to hang out with this guy. One of his family members might off me," she mumbled. If these guys had secured enough of Nero's respect to be his partners, Layla knew they'd earned it. Nero had always been a big softie when it came to Layla, Lenny, and his son Lucius, but he was hard to the core. He'd been running the streets so long this brothel business was like a walk in the park.

Nero nodded. "You probably shouldn't hang around him," he agreed affectionately. "These people are just as dangerous as the ones you're dealing with right now. They're outlaws."

Layla was unable to reply, because about a dozen motorcycles roared onto the lot as his sentence came to a close. They were followed by a black van with blacked-out windows, that she thought looked suspiciously like it was riddled with bullet holes.

The president cut his engine and hopped off his bike, pushing past Gemma and ignoring her greetings. He swaggered right up to Layla, his eyes hard enough to cut glass. "What the fuck are you doing here?"

Layla's eyebrows shot up. "Having a beer?" she raised her Corona.

Jax growled, slamming his arms on either side of her and effectively pinning her against the side of the building. Lennon and Nero shouted in protest, but the other Sons held them back. "Wanna tell me why these V13 bastards just tried to kill me? Shot up my van? They're a little far north, don't you fucking think?"

Layla felt faint. "What?! That's not possible," she said quietly, fear gripping her stomach. "Nobody knows where we are. Nobody."

Jax snarled. "Apparently somebody does!"

Nero intervened. "Jax, man, are you sure that's who they were? My relationship with Layla has always been low, more to protect her than anything. No one in her life knows who I am or where I live."

"Yeah, I'm sure that's who they fucking were!" Jax exclaimed.

"They told us," Juice added.

"Did they say what they wanted?" Lennon questioned defensively.

"No," Juice shook his head. "They just kind of shouted it out while they pumped bullets in our direction. Filthy Phil pulled the van in the way just in time."

Layla shook her head. "They haven't escalated like that with us. It doesn't make sense."

"Why the fuck else would they be in Charming?" Jax asked, slowly, like he was talking to a five year old.

"Well, I don't know, but you all don't exactly seem to be running a completely clean organization up here," Layla snapped, putting both of her hands on Jax's hard chest and shoving him out of the way. "Why don't you check a little closer to home?"

Jax's reply was cut short as a stretch limo pulled past the gates of the property, catching the group off guard. Every man's hand went to the gun under their cut. The driver exited, opening the passenger door, and a bald black man, mid thirties, exited the automobile.

He adjusted his suit, pinning his gaze on Jax. "Mr. Teller, I've come to apologize about my new associates behavior this evening."

Jax returned his gaze calculatingly. "What are you talking about, Marks?"

"You see, I've entered a new and profitable partnership with the cartel, and their manpower is locally provided by a Latin gang called V13, from Venice Beach and Santa Monica. The leader of V13, Tres, was harassed by a former US Marshal agent today because of our affiliation. It seems that a member of the Sons of Anarchy is trying to incriminate my partners and I, and the V13 love to send a message," Marks explained eloquently.

Layla huffed in victory.

Jax moved closer to the man, shaking his head. "It must be Clay," he explained. "There's a US Marshal up in the club's business because he's gunning for my wife. It wouldn't surprise me if Clay's trying to pin Pope's murder on you and the cartel. He'd be able to use the cartel's grudge against the Sons as a motive for them to set him up."

"Yes," Marks agreed, locking eyes with Jax suspiciously. "I'm sure that's all it is. You need to be careful with these law enforcement officers around, Teller. I don't want any more problems." With that, the boss climbed back into his limo, signaling for his driver to pull out of the lot.

Layla pushed her chin up defiantly. "Like I said, nobody knows where we are."

Jax's eyes snapped back to her face, his face clouded with distraction. "It's just a matter of time before they realize you're in town. You realize these guys are linked to the cartel?"

Layla sighed, accepting she and her brother were no match for international Mexican drug distributors and killers. "Yeah, I got that. Looks like we have a common enemy, and it's a big, bad, bully."

Jax nodded. "Yes, it does, and I'm tired of dealing with them," his face set in determination. "Are you going to be in town tomorrow?"

Layla nodded hesitantly. "More than likely."

"You all should drop by around noon. I think I have an idea."

...

please read and review! Thanks for reading!


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